This evening, to get motivated, I sat on my bunk reenacting grandmaster chess games, but Frankie’s words kept replaying in my mind: “Don’t you know who you’re fuckin’ with? I amthe greatest.”It took the arrival of Two Tonys to alter my mood. “Whaddaya doin’ up there?” he asked.“I’m studying Kasparov. I got beat last night by Frankie. I’ve gotta get him back – soon.”“Let’s go find the motherfucker then. And you give him some fuckin’ Kasparov.”

We found Frankie finishing off Big Man.“Don’t you know who you’re fuckin’ with?” Frankie said. “Check – check – check –check-fuckin’-mate.”“You ain’t shit!” Big Man said, and left in a huff.“Hey, Frankie,” Two Tonys said. “Jon here’s gonna take ya down. I was just up in this motherfucker’s house, and he had a book out, studyin’ Kasparov moves. Now he thinks he’s in Kiev, on the Russian steppe, leadin’ the Mongol hordes into Europe. I bet he’s gonna kick you're fuckin ass.”“You know what? I fuck Russians for breakfast.” Frankie said, and began groaning and thrusting his pelvis at us.“You wouldn’t be sayin’ that if the KGB had you bent over some barrel in a basement, askin’ you where you'd hid your fuckin’ Mexican gold. Give this fucker some Kasparov, Jon,” Two Tonys said and departed.

I abandoned my usual openings, and adopted a queenside fianchetto, looking to establish my bishop pair pressurizing his kingside. Frankie began dismembering my kingside. Fearful of an imminent loss, I felt my anxiety rise.“After I win this game are we gonna take a shower together, Englandman?” Frankie whispered in a sexy voice."No way," I said.Frankie was about to win the game. However, overconfidence led him astray, and he made a mistake by placing his queen on the same diagonal as his king. I pretended not to see this vulnerability as I moved my rook to a square that would support my bishop in a queen steal. Frankie didn’t notice. I took his queen and finished him off.“That was good, Englandman,” Frankie said. “Very, very sneaky.”Two Tonys returned and asked, “What happened?”“I gave him some Kasparov,” I said.“That’s a good thing,” Two Tonys said. “Pretty soon, you’ll have Frankie eatin’ Russian fuckin’ caviar and cucumber outta yer fuckin’ hand.”“I thought I told you,” Frankie said, “I bone Russians down for breakfast.”“You wouldn’t be talkin’ shit like that if Stalin was your fuckin’ celly,” Two Tonys said.“If Englandman thinks he’s the champ then maybe he’ll have a little wager on a game to make it a little more interestin'.” Frankie said.“What kind of wager?” I asked.“Whoever loses does twenty pushups.”“Is that all? No problem.”“You didn’t hear the rest – you do the pushups butt naked,” Frankie said, “And when you lose, Englandman, I’m gonna get a real good look.”“With that attitude, you’re the one who’ll lose. You’re pissing off the chess gods. But if I did lose, I would be concerned about what you would be getting up to while I was doing the pushups.”“You’ve got nothin’ to worry about, Englandman. After I get a good look, I’m gonna go home, put a blanket over me, and let my imagination take care of the rest.”“Tell you what,” I said. “I’ll think about the bet, and let you know.”

He's conning you. Its only a prize if he wins - he will get his rocks off from humiliating you.Shouldn't there be an equal and opposite to that - something that pleases you and humiliates him, if you win?That means you need to select an alternate forfeit if he loses, or else walk away from this sort of penalty on the basis that there is no way you could get sexual thrills or a good chuckle out of him debasing himself, so even if you win theres no prize in it for you.

As it stands he has proposed that he gets a treat if he wins (carrot) and you get to escape public humiliation if you win (stick). Thats a stitch up. Two carrots or two sticks, its got to be, to be fair.

Hi Jon, I have been reading your blog for years and I think you've turned quite a corner in your writing. Where it used to be introspective, quasi philosophical and ernest, you have recently entertained us with some funny and frivolous prison stories. I have to say, I like your change of style. I'd almost think you hired yourself a literary agent.

Don't get me wrong, far be it from me to judge your personal expression one way or another, but much as I enjoy the vulnerability and honesty in some of your stories, personally I enjoy reading about Franky, Tony and Xena too. You're a dark horse though my son (in a cockney accent), and that's a good thing, it means you're still in the game and you haven't been letting the system get you down too much. Have you considered what an advantage you will have upon your release on all those who have been blunting their intellect on cappuccinos and small talk?

Regarding your current dilemma, I think you know, or ought to know, perfectly well that taking a challenge like this is a lose-lose situation, as Cheryl has pointed out. So far you have been getting by on elegantly and consistently swatting down any suggestions in the anal virginity threat direction. You enter this chess game, you enter the arse game. You are 'up for it', if the stakes are right, and everyone will know it. Unless you yourself are reconsidering your options regarding man-love, and fair enough if you are, you know what to do - just beat Frankie at chess without any wagers. That'll get his goat well enough!

I will have to agree with the masses that taking the bet is probably not a good idea. You have won one game against Frankie and the odds that you will beat him again are against you. Not to mention that if you lose, the consequences could be serious, ie damage done to your honour in the minds of your fellow mates and encouraging the booty bandits to utilise these ilks of tactics to get closer to you. I wouldn't ever want to hear that your gentle English bum was ever terrorised by such vulgar and crass American lusts. You are much to dear to me for that. Keep that floodgate closed as long as you can. Miss you and hope that your spirits are still as high as ever.